


Equivocal Shroud

by Saerzion



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Androgyny, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Romance, Sexual Content, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saerzion/pseuds/Saerzion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An androgynous and enigmatic Dragonborn endures unrelenting distrust from the general populace, yet engages in secret affairs with the Jarls of both Solitude and Windhelm. Only the observant follower Erandur begins to see the motives that drive this perplexing individual, for there is far more to that shrouded exterior than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Even through the limited visual capabilities of my helmet, I detected the draw of eyes around me as I walked along the cobblestone road leading to the Blue Palace. I doubted the full Daedric set I wore served as the primary target of the squints and leers, the indiscreet whispers that drifted to my ears. Despite my status as a Thane of Solitude, most citizens continued to give me a wide berth. The blame fell partly on me, for I admit I never made the effort to reach out. I kept my business in each city quick, such as this instance where I hoped to answer Jarl Elisif's summons and then depart within the hour.

Of course, such brusque dealings never won the people's hearts. They conveyed their opinion of me through their distance and skeptical remarks. For the most part, their words no longer fazed me, but the weight of their distrust never lifted from my chest.

_Is it truly the Dragonborn?_

_Why doesn't it ever show its face?_

_Exactly what IS it?_

The term "it" was all they could use to describe me. I understood. Choosing to conceal everything of myself also meant choosing to forfeit some semblance of my humanity, the very aspect that fit me into their definition of a person. For all they knew, I could be a thrall or a dremora. After all, I traversed the regions of Skyrim like this, garbed in Daedric armor and rarely speaking. Still, I would have liked a little more faith in my intentions. I sought to liberate these people from Alduin's fury.

But until I succeeded or died in this endeavor, they'd never believe it.

My Dunmer companion kept in step at my side as he, too, brushed off the relentless gawking. I suppose we did make an odd pair: a shrouded individual of indeterminate identity traveling with a priest of Mara. Not only that, said priest wore the robes that once belonged to the previous Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Were it not for the Amulet of Mara swinging permanently from his neck, Erandur may have been mistaken for the late Savos Aren himself.

I still thought bestowing him with the robes had been a good move since I possessed little magical aptitude, even when the rank of Arch-Mage had passed to me. I studied Erandur now as we approached the palace doors, noting the fitting bearing with which he carried himself. A connection of solidarity had forged between us the instant we'd met, one that carried us both through times too dark for the comfort of words. He noticed my attention and faced me fully, crimson eyes supportive and kind. My mouth quirked into an unseen smile, and I lifted a hand to clap him on the shoulder as we entered the abode of Jarl Elisif the Fair.

As soon as I strode two steps inside the elaborate palace, the steward, Falk Firebeard, called to me from the balcony of the court.

"Kressun. There you are. Elisif has been waiting," he declared. "She has a matter to discuss with you and requests your presence in her quarters."

I nodded, gesturing to Erandur to wait for me near the entrance. He did so as I ascended the winding staircase on the left and moved past the watchful court members in silence. They, at least, trusted me enough to let me meet with the Jarl alone, even with a Daedric warhammer strapped to my back. Then again, I'd had to bend over backwards to prove myself, an effort I wasn't keen on repeating for seven other Holds offering me the title of Thane.

The guards allowed my entry into the rear wing of the palace, where the High King's widow resided by herself. Her crystal-pitched voice answered when I knocked on her door, and I let myself in, shutting it behind me as she turned from the sunlit window by the canopy bed. Once again, I found myself struck by her beauty. Blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders, she represented the standard of elegance throughout the province, unmatched in the perfect combination of her grace and allure. I bowed my head in the slightest, never missing a chance to show my respect.

"I'm glad you showed up after all," she began cuttingly. "I've received disturbing news about your recent associations, Kressun."

I read the look on her face and realized at once where this conversation was headed.

"Thane of Windhelm? Are you testing me?" Elisif demanded in a hard tone she never revealed to anyone else.

I accepted her displeasure, but explained, "I told you from the start I wouldn't choose sides in this civil war, my Jarl. I do what I must to gain resources in my fight against the dragons." My voice rang from behind my helm, naturally husky in its quality, and I saw how it incited a peculiar glint in her eye.

Regardless, a frown marred her delicate features as she placed a hand on her hip. "But you know I can't allow you free reign in my court when you're sympathetic to my enemy. To the Empire's enemy. And I don't suppose you would be willing to work espionage on my behalf?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm completely neutral to this conflict."

The atmosphere grew strained in the space as she pressed her lips together. I stood, unmoving, and anticipated her response. Neither calm nor anxiety influenced my temperance, and merely I waited, ready to receive whatever retort she had.

She peered at me for a long while and then sighed. "Very well. I recognize the truth in your words. You may keep your position here, and I'm holding you to your statement that you are not politically aligned with either Ulfric or myself."

It was the most I could hope for. "Thank you. I appreciate your good faith, my Jarl."

"Please," she said with a sharp note, "remember to call me Elisif when it is just the two of us."

"Elisif."

Her name rolled off my tongue in a way that altered her expression. Wistfulness and fire flitted across her visage as she ran her gaze over me. I felt it sear through my breastplate, cut into the core I kept hidden from the world.

"That ambiguous armor again. I've stopped inquiring, but my curiosity only grows," Elisif told me. "As does my longing for you. Come here."

I approached at her beckoning, as I had countless times in the past. When I halted a few inches away, she reached out and ran her palms over the sharp spikes of my epaulets before traveling to my neck and collar. I watched, enamored as always by her elegant demeanor. And then my breath caught when the sight openings of my helm were no longer aligned with my eyes.

My hands shot up at once and clamped over her small wrists as she tried to lift the Daedric headpiece, shoving them away from my face. She whimpered at my roughness, and the sound stirred something within me, entwined with my burgeoning anger. I pulled her forward, pressing her soft frame against the unyielding material of my armor. Using one hand to pin her wrists behind her back, I gripped her chin with the fingers of my other and forced her to look at me.

"Who is testing whom, Elisif?" I rumbled, witnessing her shudder from the low pitch of my timbre.

Wanton desire entered the blue irises that stared up at me, and breathlessly, she answered, "I only wish to learn the true nature of this enigma that sets my blood aflame." A dainty leg rose and slid out from under the hem of her skirt, rubbing up along my outer thigh. "You, known only as the Dragonborn…" She wrapped her leg around my waist as her manner shifted from proper lady to sultry minx. "…Possessing this strong, slender, ambiguous body…" Her hips rolled against mine, challenging my willpower. "…Will you ever show me what you are?"

I released her, but she clung to me, seizing my collar to keep me close. This side of her reminded me why I always returned at her beck and call. Despite her incessant hope to see the form beneath my armor, I never stayed cross for long. It was a pattern I'd engaged in ever since we'd come to this arrangement. Although she tried each time to catch a glimpse of my face, I knew what it was she actually wanted.

"My name is sufficient."

I lifted her with ease and sat her atop a nearby dresser, prying her leg from my waist but spreading her knees further apart. I stood between them and hitched up her skirt while she seized the gauntlet of my dominant hand. Slowly, and ensuring my acquiescence, she removed the only piece of attire I was willing to take off. Tanned skin wrought with jagged scars came into view, and I stroked my callused fingers across the length of her thigh, eliciting a small sound from her throat as my fingertips brushed against the curls over her moistening sex.

"My services… are enough."

She offered no argument, only threw her arms around my neck and moaned when I slid a finger into her. The warmth that enclosed over my digit sent heat straight to my loins, but I kept myself in check and focused on my task. Holding her against me, I retracted my hand and then plunged back into her with two rough fingers. She stifled a cry next to my ear, and I grinned to myself as the young and lovely Jarl of Solitude surrendered her composure to become a trembling mess in my arms.

"My touch… is already yours."

"Kressun."

My name left her mouth in a sharp exhale, begging, wanting. I obliged, invading her again and again in a consistent rhythm, using every technique, every angle I knew to bring her closer to the edge. She was tight, having taken no lover except what I could offer. The intrigue surrounding me was enough to satisfy her, she'd once alleged, though I found that difficult to believe. And so I sought to draw out the truth from her sweetest region, for her most honest state manifested in her arousal.

"Tell me, Elisif… how _this_ ," I flexed my arm muscles and thrust hard into her, "is enough to satiate that burning lust you have for me."

"Secrets, Kressun," she panted, tightening her hold around my neck. "I have them as well. But please… don't stop."

As my fingers delved deeper inside her, I obeyed the request.

Minutes later, after she had arched into me and climaxed around my hand, she showed me her gratitude by raising her face and pressing an intimate kiss to the front of my helm, right where my lips yearned for her on the other side.

x-x-x-x-x

I sensed Erandur's persistent gaze on me as we passed through the front gates of Solitude on our way to the stables.

"What is it?" I asked, adjusting my gauntlets.

"Ah, nothing."

I sent him a brief look, but refrained from pursuing the question. The overcast sky hid the late afternoon sun and stretched out above us in a blanket of gloom. I quickened my pace toward our horses, not keen on getting caught by sleet and rain on the journey to Falkreath.

"Well," Erandur piped up halfway along the route to Katla's farm, "I've just observed something. Mind you, I'm only a bystander and may be completely off the mark."

That caught my attention, and I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. "Share your thoughts with me."

He stopped a few paces ahead and fixed me with a probing stare. "Your dealings with people in power. Namely, the two Jarls leading the opposing sides of the war."

A muscle twitched in my temple as I stepped toward him. "And what about them have you observed, Erandur?"

"It just seems a dangerous game you're playing. Involving yourself with both, yet maintaining your neutrality on what they each stand for."

I stiffened at the assessment, glaring at him through my helm before attempting to shoulder past. "You are indeed off the mark, my friend."

With surprising speed, his arm shot out to block my path. It thumped against my abdomen, keeping me in place. I was about to demand that he move when I noticed the intensity of his eyes. They flashed with an aggression I hadn't seen since Nightcaller Temple, the gentle priest of Mara nowhere to be found in their depths.

"Let me finish. That was my first thought," he stated testily. "My second was that it isn't a game, but something driven more by… want of flesh."

In the stifling confines of my armor, my body heat rose to an uncomfortable temperature. I hadn't exactly been… _discreet_ about these summons, but I hadn't thought my well-mannered follower would actually bring it up and confront me. Still, the natural defensive reflex surged up, and I shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to endure a theistic lecture from one of Mara's sheep.

"Elisif and I were discussing politics. Nothing more," I declared in a harsher tone than I'd intended.

His fingers suddenly drifted toward my face, but before I could recoil, they dipped toward my collar to pluck something out. I saw the strand of long blonde hair reflect the fading light, and for once I had no response as he released it into the wind.

"As you say, Kressun. Politics, indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

The tension thickened between us, an occurrence so rare that I took a moment to consider his standpoint. How long had he waited to bring this up? From his perspective, my decisions may have seemed questionable, even suspicious, and yet he'd neglected to say anything until now. I had to wonder whether a true, unfavorable opinion of me lay buried beneath that collected persona. While I cared little about the enmity I faced from the public on a daily basis, this left a different effect.

It troubled me.

The appearance of a courier interrupted my train of thought. In untimely fashion, the man came running over to make his delivery, and my sight remained trained on Erandur's impassive features as I took the letter handed to me. Breaking eye contact to glance down and read it, I felt my jaw harden at the contents.

"We will have to delay Falkreath again," I announced, stuffing the paper into my pack. Surely, some Daedric prince must be toying with me.

"Where are we headed?" Erandur inquired.

My answer rang with reluctance. "Windhelm."

To his credit, he said nothing.

Stark silence hung over our travel eastward, broken only by the occasional communication to decide on lodging and equipment transactions. I was perturbed by the atypical distance Erandur kept me at, but I left the matter alone, only wishing to move forward and hope his judgment eventually abated. The unrest had eased by the time we crossed into Eastmarch, though we encountered new outward apprehension and wariness from communities on the outskirts of Windhelm.

Unlike Solitude, where residents at least recognized me as Thane, citizens in Windhelm either had no idea or refused to believe I held that title here as well. Instead, I was the mysterious Dragonborn of unknown origin. My stature, tall and relatively built, gave little outward hint to my race, and so people continued to guess. Some of the ideas amused me to no end: a tailless Khajiit, an albino Redguard, a vain Altmer grappling with the shame and trauma of some trivial facial imperfection. The guesses grew more and more absurd each time I visited a tavern.

However, out of all the aspects under speculation, the most heavily debated was my gender.

I listened now as we dismounted our horses at the Windhelm stables. _"Man? Woman? What is it?"_ they whispered. I allowed their conjectures, never responding, never correcting. Their stares followed us all the way to the gates, and the guards issued an obligatory greeting to me as we slipped inside. The Nords passing by Candlehearth Hall didn't bother masking their disdain, as they thought me a fraud since I hadn't yet demonstrated any Shouts in this city. I ignored their slanderous comments and demands to reveal the Thu'um, for I felt no inclination to validate my dragon blood just to appease them.

I heard rather than felt someone spit on my shoulder blade, and in an automatic movement, Erandur sent a casual bolt of lightning to mildly shock the offender. Stormcloak soldiers noticed the conflict, but refrained from intervening when they recognized my armored figure heading for the Palace of the Kings. Erandur wiped off my armor for me, to which I turned to give him my thanks. But when he stopped walking several meters from the entrance of the keep, I paused.

"What's wrong?"

He stood there shivering under the falling snow, arms wrapped around himself as he averted his gaze. "I'll wait here for you," he said quietly.

I blinked, puzzled. "No. Come wait inside."

He stayed in place, expression indecipherable. I, too, refused to move, wondering what had brought this on. I could understand if he disapproved of my actions, but subjecting himself to the bitter cold simply to make a statement was so out of character. It became clearer that something had changed for us in the past day, a shift I failed to identify. Disquiet spread through my sternum, and the snow crunched under my boots as I stepped closer, my brow creasing.

"Will you at least wait in the Gray Quarter? Pass the time with Ambarys at the Cornerclub," I suggested. _Anything but waiting out here._ The image of him shivering in the freezing air did not sit well with me.

Erandur seemed to deliberate with himself for a few seconds, but nodded. Wordlessly, he pivoted on his heel and headed in that direction. I watched him go, trying to compartmentalize my concerns to address at a later time. For now, I had to set them aside.

My entrance into the Palace of the Kings echoed throughout the vast interior as the doors slammed shut behind me. Stillness greeted me at first, followed by the reverberating tones of Galmar Stone-Fist's voice up ahead. The gothic design of this palace contrasted with the ornate structures of Solitude's; fitting for their respective Jarls. I made my way around the grand banquet table, passing by the steward, Jorleif. He bid me a genuine welcome, the first I received since arriving at Windhelm. I acknowledged him and continued toward the rear of the main hall, where Galmar stood guard next to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

My eyes locked with Ulfric's, and immediately I felt the draw of his power and fortitude, similar to the first time I met his gaze at Helgen. We had sat side by side on that wagon carrying us to our deaths, a gag across his mouth and a hood over my head. And somehow, here we were now.

I dropped to one knee before the throne, a sign of both reverence and fellowship for the man whose fate had been rewritten along with mine. I held that position until Ulfric rose to his feet.

"Come with me, Kressun," he ordered, striding past me toward the war room. "We need to have a talk."

I straightened and glimpsed the dubious look etched across Galmar's features as I trailed after the Jarl. Our footsteps resonated in the torch-lit stone corridors leading to the upper levels, and I noted the decreasing number of guards stationed on either side as we neared his quarters. I appreciated the display of trust, though I knew many in his Hold considered me a threat despite the deeds I had performed for their benefit. Thane, Dragonborn, these titles mattered little when others harbored no respect for the person holding them.

Sometimes, I regarded my survival as an inconvenience and my birthright as a thankless chore, made more evident by the relentless antagonism bearing down on me everywhere I went. Other times, I welcomed the challenge, seeing it as a set of trials to overcome. And I wanted to succeed. I _needed_ to succeed.

I had no other choice.

We ascended the last flight of stairs and emerged into Ulfric's bedchamber. The goat horn sconces flickered as he walked by, and I closed the entrance behind us, locking it at his command. The roaring hearth past the pedestaled bed cast shadows of his burly physique across the floor toward me. I lingered in front of the doors as he ventured to the fireplace, his silhouette tall and imposing amidst the glow. He bade me to join him after several beats went by, and like a marionette on a string, I complied with his will.

The heat of the fire seeped through to my bones as I neared, chasing away the last of the chill from outside. I came to stand next to him, my vision directed at the blaze that he also watched.

"We are preparing to send a message to Balgruuf, telling him to choose a side." Ulfric turned to me then, his stare full of ice. "Does the same need to be done for you?"

I looked away and readied myself to repeat a conversation we'd held numerous times before. "Forgive me, my Jarl, but message or no, I will take no part in the civil war."

Displeasure emanated from his bearing as he edged closer. "I have tolerated you sitting on the fence like this, but my patience wears thin. And while Elisif may be content with your impartial stance, I am not so lenient."

My hackles raised on instinct when the threat entered his posture. "You already have my membership in your court, my company in your quarters," I pointed out. "What more could you want of me?"

He appeared to double in size, provoked by a question I'd thought innocent. "To start, I want to know what it is you're hiding," he rumbled, reaching for me. "From the beginning, you shrouded yourself and your motives in obscurity. Even now, you have yet to explain your involvement with both Solitude and Windhelm when you have no intention of supporting either side."

I evaded his hand and took a step back. "I only conceal what does not matter. Above all, I intend no harm in doing so."

Ulfric's gaze bore into me, right through the physical constructs of my Daedric garb. I felt the shift in the atmosphere even before he moved, but still I reacted too slowly to the grip that clamped over my forearm. His height and build dwarfed mine as he closed the distance between us, and I found myself peering up at his agitated countenance in the orange light of the flames. His sheer dominance wrapped around me, bid me to yield. I chose to stay still when he brushed his knuckles against one side of my helm, over my cheekbone.

"Perhaps not, but that leads me to wonder what your intentions truly are," he murmured, so close that I could study the pale blue and gray pattern of his irises. "What will it take for you to show me?"

I placed a palm over his fingers when his thumb hooked under my chin. In the back of my mind, I took in his words, understood that Ulfric Stormcloak sought my asking price. His unrelenting desire for my allegiance and disclosure burned with an almost tangible vigor. I sensed the edges of my self-control fracture when he bent forward and repeated the question in a gravelly whisper next to my ear, but I held fast to my resolve.

Gathering myself, I told him, "My reasons are my own, Ulfric. Rest assured, they will not interfere with my duty to end the Dragon Crisis. But I will not share them."

I saw the dark glint in his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then, in a flash, he swung me around and straight toward the hearth, demonstrating strength and speed superior to my own. My hands shot out to catch the mantle, but my forehead struck its edge before I could stop my forward motion. A sharp, ill-forged section inside my helm cut my flesh above one brow, and I braced myself there while the scorching heat of the fire licked at my front. My warhammer had clattered on the floor somewhere to the right, and in the next instant, an imposing weight pressed itself against my back. Ulfric's heavy arms slid around me from behind, holding me in place as one hand traveled between my legs to grope at the sex disguised by my armor. The air rushed from my lungs at the foreign contact, leaving me wavering.

"You would have me accept that vague reply? This is my homeland at stake, my people at risk," he snarled, pushing me closer to the inferno. As I resisted and ground my backside into him, he added in a gruff voice, "…My sanity you are toying with."

My shoulders stiffened when his fingers fumbled with the fastenings at my waist. Ire and adrenaline surged through my system, forcing me to take action before he went too far. Yanking off my gauntlet, I broke his hold and spun around. The movement failed to catch him off-guard, but his anger receded as soon as I stroked his face with my bare skin. Everything went silent as my blunt nails grazed the premature lines near his mouth, trailing over the scratchy facial hair toward his jaw. His arms loosened, but he leaned into my touch, seeking all I was willing to give.

The longing in his expression tugged at me, and I dragged my fingertips south as something carnal took over my demeanor. "I am not toying with you. I said at the start that I would offer my service in matters outside your war. You know what that entails. _This_ is what I agreed to."

He exhaled sharply when I cupped the bulge in his pants, which only strained harder through the fabric. "Kressun—"

"Do not speak, and let me serve you."

One might call that a bold move, giving an order to the Jarl of Windhelm while handling his manhood, but he allowed me the brief illusion of power as I led him to the bed. Knocking him onto his back on the soft mattress, I witnessed his breathing shorten in anticipation as I crawled over him. We regarded each other fleetingly, my body poised above his. Within seconds, I had the laces of his trousers untied, and he attempted to stifle a groan once his erection sprung free and throbbed in my hand. Balancing myself on my knees, I worked him at a slow, tantalizing pace, having memorized every inch of his shaft and the rhythm that drove him mad.

Judging from Ulfric's guttural sounds of pleasure and eager response, I estimated weeks since his last instance of release—likely when I had last come here. The busy schedule he adhered to left him little time for himself, but sometimes I contemplated whether he waited for my arrival on purpose. Known as a force to be reckoned with in every sense, the famed leader of the Stormcloak rebellion was reduced to a growling, writhing heap at the mercy of my ministrations.

His knuckles had gone white from clenching the blanket at his sides, and he bucked when I reached the specific speed that would soon set him off. Smirking, I worked him harder, perspiring in my armor from my own inhibited arousal. He spoke of his land and his people in wanting to solve the mystery surrounding me, but in the end, it always came down to this.

Be it Elisif or Ulfric, they both wanted me this way.

Suddenly, without warning, he seized my hips and reversed our positions. The mattress sank under our shifted weight, and I experienced a wild moment of panic when he used one arm to pin me down by my collarbones. He had wedged my legs open and settled between them, panting as he fixed me with a searing look that plunged straight into my core. I felt it again, his aggression and dominant nature that enticed me to submit. But just as I began calculating ways to deflect any attempts at stripping me, he leaned closer and captured my undivided attention.

"At this point," he rasped, reaching down to grasp his cock, "I don't care whether you are a man or a woman…"

I lay there, paralyzed and transfixed as he vigorously pumped himself, barely registering what was happening until he let out a low groan and spilled his seed all over my belly and lower abdomen. The spurting went on almost endlessly, as if determined to stake his figurative claim on me. When he finished, he rubbed the dripping tip against the apex of my thighs and scanned the mess he made on my armor, satisfied.

"I will have you yet."

x-x-x-x-x

I found Erandur alone at the top floor of the Cornerclub. He glanced up from the book he was reading next to a candlelit table when I trudged up the creaking stairs and dragged myself across the floor toward him. Before I even said anything, his prominent brow ridge furrowed.

"You're injured," he stated, somehow detecting the cut on my forehead.

"You're correct," I sighed as I plopped into the chair across from him and set my warhammer against its side. I winced at the incessant stinging, which I had all but forgotten while dealing with Ulfric in the throes of passion. "Could you hit me with a healing spell? I don't want to waste a potion on this minor wound."

Erandur rose and padded over to kneel in front of me. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for my helm. "Let me take a look at it."

I jerked away at once. "No. The cut is right above my left eyebrow. Focus on that section, and you won't be wasting magicka—"

"Kressun." His tone grew assertive, commanding, and sharp enough to halt the further refusals ready to launch from my mouth. "Let me take a look at it."

We eyed each other in the hush of the space as the muffled conversation and music drifted up from the tavern area below. He sported the same unreadable expression as earlier, telling me something between us still remained unresolved. His insistence asked for much, especially when I would never unmask myself for anyone else. Even those I had certain relations with.

But for Erandur…

"Fine. But be on guard in case anyone comes up. I haven't yet mastered my invisibility spell."

He nodded, gently taking hold of my helm to lift it off. I sat in a passive daze until he succeeded in removing it. Cool, refreshing air hit my face as I breathed in and reveled in this rare freedom. I wiped at the damp, dark hair matted to my head and the nape of my neck, dismayed at how quickly it chilled out in the open. Erandur placed the Daedric headpiece on the table, studying me in the weak lighting. Unable to meet his staring for long, I turned away in discomfort.

"Just… check the cut and heal it so I can put the helm back on," I muttered, keeping my unhindered vocal pitch quiet so as not to alert curious ears.

Tender and warm fingers touched my cheeks, making me jolt as he rotated me back toward him. His features had taken on a new softness as he inspected my visage, and I felt my pulse race when his thumbs caressed the smooth planes of my facial structure.

"Don't look so bristled. You've shown me yourself before," Erandur remarked as he continued tracing my skin all the way up to the dried blood on my forehead. "And I'm honored to be the only one in Skyrim to have seen you without your helm."

"Yes, well… I trust you," I declared, very much aware of his vicinity. In the dimness, his crimson gaze locked onto me from beneath his hood, entrancing and fiery in its own right.

He held my chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up so that we hovered mere inches apart. "You've never told me, though… why are you so desperate to hide this flawless face?"


	3. Chapter 3

A dozen lies sprang to the forefront of my mind in response to his inquiry, but they died on my tongue when I found myself incapable of dishonesty with him. His attention engulfed me, rendered me bare in aspects beyond my uncovered face. I counted the silent beats that passed in the wake of my temporary muteness, my body paralyzed with indecision. He focused on the shallow cut on my forehead while awaiting my answer, and I shut my eyes for a brief span of seconds as his restoration spell blew gently around me to mend my skin.

"When I am ready to disclose the reason, you will be the first to hear it, Erandur," I declared, glancing up. "I promise."

Disappointment tinged his ashen features, but a slight nod implied his acceptance. I searched his eyes for any other hint to his thoughts, finding nothing save for the perpetual deep red that stared back at me. However, as soon as I decided this exchange sufficed, the sudden movement of his hand caught me off-guard.

A sensation not altogether unpleasant spread from my left earlobe as the pads of his fingers brushed against it and followed the elongated outer shell to the pointed tip. My spine gave an involuntary shiver as I tried in vain to recall the last time anyone else had touched me in this intimate manner. Although I typically barred all unnecessary physical contact from others, this… this I did not mind. We lapsed into idleness in the ensuing quiet, my customary vigilance weakening with every second spent against his warmth.

"I understand, and I will hold you to that promise," he murmured, still fondling the ear shaped so similarly to his. "Perhaps then I will be free to divulge a matter of my own."

Something raw and honest clicked into place in that instant. I looked—really looked—at him as he withdrew from me, catching the traces of discontent in the troubled set of his jaw. Evidence of unspoken pining lurked amidst the shadows in his gaze, and I needed only one inference to finally pinpoint the cause of his recent odd behavior.

"Ah…" was all I could muster as his small smile confirmed my stunned revelation.

A moment born of mutual understanding encompassed us and resolved all dissonance on the spot. I rose from my seat and stood before him, at a loss for how to proceed when everything inside me was reeling with uncertainty. Somewhere along the way of traversing my predestined fate, I had shut the door on the prospect of a future with another at my side. The path proved desolate, but I'd filled the voids where I could. I satisfied my bodily needs in the beds of two jarls and solved my wish for companionship by recruiting people willing to help my cause. These followers came and went in routine temporary fashion, and until now, I had expected the same of Erandur.

He watched me with bated breath, awaiting some further reaction I didn't have in me to convey. Yet, for all the turmoil circulating in my head, every instinct I possessed yearned to reciprocate. It was a foreign inclination, different from what I felt during any tryst I engaged in. Whether it stemmed from an innate desire or resulted from this turn of events, I didn't know. But I couldn't control it.

I reached out and grasped the base of his hood, pulling it down to gather behind his neck. He shifted tentatively as his long black hair spilled over my arm, seeming unprepared for my forwardness. A grin tugged at one corner of my mouth, and I saw his vision swim with heat and wonder as I cupped his gaunt cheeks in my hands. We both were treading unfamiliar waters at this point. I had lost myself to the thundering of my own heart, thinking only of how another's lips would feel and taste against mine.

I had always wondered. I had always wanted.

And now, in light of the circumstances, I wanted it to be him.

Driven by this overwhelming urge, I bent closer—only for him to lay a forbidding palm against my chest.

"Don't," he said, his voice low, rough, and clearly worked up, "group me with the others, Kressun. If I am to be another mere notch on your belt, let's forget this was brought up."

My inhibitions snapped back into place. I released him as if I'd been burned, and, given the sharp stab of dismay ripping through me, I may as well have been. The abrupt rejection aside, I found his assumption disheartening, almost insulting.

"I'm not," I sputtered, trying to sound less stung than I felt. "I'd never… not to you. I couldn't… and anyway, you were the one feeling up my ear…"

But rather than listening, he appeared to be wrestling some other form of discomfort. I observed the effects of my actions in his flushed countenance and the ragged rhythm of his breathing. I'd watched his daily struggles with himself in coming to terms with his past, but this was something else entirely. Exhaling, I took pity on his plight.

"I will neither tempt nor pressure you. Although, really, that wasn't my intention," I declared, turning to grab my helm from the table. "But consider this. Gazing at me now, what do you see?"

Erandur paused and tilted his head to the side as if contemplating a trick question. "Strong and noble features. Captivating dark eyes. An unblemished complexion. Bone structure that could have been sculpted by Mara herself. Someone not many would expect beneath that helm."

"And that assessment is something not many in this province could reiterate," I told him as I held the Daedric headpiece under my arm. "Do you understand? You've seen what others call a mystery. Only in front of you do I lower the mask of the Dragonborn. Only for you do I allow myself this freedom."

It dawned on him at once, evident in the way he froze.

"Furthermore, only with you did I want to share these lips… which have touched no other."

He gaped at me then, looking more torn than I'd ever seen him. I straightened to my full height and waited, my words ringing true around us. In his presence, it was easy to shed my outermost exterior and expose a few facets of my nature. Many things about me still remained unrevealed, but at least for now, I could give this much of myself to him.

Erandur cleared his throat and stepped toward me, breaking the tension. "So… now that the cards are on the table, how shall we proceed? What is your perspective on the matter?"

Without missing a beat, I stretched my arm to him again. "I could show you—"

_Thump._

A dull crash preceded several sets of tromping footsteps that resounded from the floor below us, cutting me off. The volume in the tavern had increased to a considerable buzz in the time we'd been up here. I sighed and retracted my limb as he sent a furtive glance toward the stairs.

"Another time, then. Come, Erandur, we should move on from here."

At his mumbled agreement, I donned my helm and secured it over my collar, once again concealing the true individual beneath the shroud.

x-x-x-x-x

Things shifted from strained to awkward between us on our initial trek southwest. I noticed that while Erandur's demeanor had improved, he also spent less time conversing with me and more time muttering what sounded like prayers to Mara. When I pointed this out during our layover in Whiterun, he stopped talking altogether. I detected no displeasure in his attitude; rather, he seemed to be composing himself as we set out again the following morning.

Neither one of us brought up the development in the Cornerclub, though I suspected it weighed heavily on both our minds. I'd warmed up to the prospect of pursuing something with him, but the issues regarding my obligations and secrets still posed an obstacle to this idea. Nothing in the legends guaranteed that the Dragonborn would come out of the Dragon Crisis alive. And even if I fulfilled that particular destiny and walked away with my life intact, my duty was far from over.

The work had only just begun.

On horseback, we crossed into Falkreath Hold, where the snow gave way to dense forests and perpetual rainfall. I paid little attention to the rivulets of water that pelted us under the gray sky; so preoccupied was I in my own thoughts. In fact, I almost missed Erandur's question.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?"

He conjured a glowing ward over us to stave off further assault from the rain. "I asked if you needed any help practicing your alteration spells when we have some downtime. Destruction is my forte, but I can't rest easy knowing the Arch-Mage of the College has barely mastered one of the simplest schools of magic."

I cast him an incredulous look from behind my helm, torn between offense and amusement. "This is how you intend to start a conversation after not speaking to me all morning? A blatant jab at my magical prowess? Or, rather, lack thereof?"

For the first time in days, Erandur chuckled. "Indeed. But you must admit it's all true."

The topic could have been less humiliating, but his restored good humor and personable manner relieved me.

"What nerve," I sniffed, feigning grievous injury. "Perhaps I should scurry back to my homeland and have you take my place. You've already been parading around in the robes, anyway."

"A fair point, but I would much rather observe you waffling your way through various confrontations with apprentice mages who seek your disastrous guidance," he quipped.

I laughed at that even as I recognized the tragic accuracy of the statement. Even though my people were not known for our skills in the arcane, I, by virtue of heritage, should have possessed more magical talent than what I could churn out at my current level. Unfortunately, my spell performance left much to be desired. That I even succeeded Savos Aren as the Arch-Mage was a miracle—or a travesty.

"So that's the way it's going to be, is it? Well, you just wait. Maybe if I find time to stop swinging this warhammer around, we'll learn that my specialty school is restoration," I declared with a hollowness even I could hear.

"If I recall correctly, the last time you attempted to heal me, I ended up on fire."

I cringed at the memory, but failed to keep the grin from my voice. "Right. Sorry about that. My magic abilities are appalling, I know. Are you sure you're interested in me?"

Although meant as a lighthearted prod, the question brought the rigidity back to Erandur's frame. He stiffened on his horse beside me, and I fumbled to backtrack to a less presumptuous subject. But before I could stutter out an inane comment about the weather, he spoke.

"Yes," he asserted, pushing his hood aside to peer at me. "That is for certain."

I blinked at the frank response, but decided against asking him for an explanation. We continued along the dirt road toward Falkreath, and he dropped the ward as soon as the rain let up. I attempted to concentrate on the objective at hand, for I knew the strength and focus it would require of me once we arrived in town. I had done what I could to prepare. The result would grant me something necessary for my goals.

I hoped.

"I was thinking… perhaps when we finish our business in Falkreath," Erandur piped up, hesitant, "we could continue where we left off on our discussion."

I glanced at him as the wind rustled the leaves around us, feeling my mouth soften into a smile when he stared intently back at me. "I'd like that."

"Good. I'm glad. That being said, what _are_ we doing in Falkreath?"

I quirked an eyebrow at the note of suspicion in his timbre. "I'm not visiting the Jarl, if that's what you're thinking." Judging by his sheepish expression, it was. "There is someone I've been meaning to meet. He's the reason I traveled all the way from Valenwood, but I was arrested at the Skyrim border for refusing to identify myself. And then came all the dragon business and Nord politics… and time just escaped me. I can no longer afford to delay this meeting."

Erandur studied me for a long while. "Who is he?"

In an even tone, I replied, "You'll see."

More than he could know at that moment, my bringing him along to Falkreath was a prime demonstration of my trust.

Another minute or two passed before he said, "You know, it's interesting that the Dragonborn of Nord legend turned out to be a Bosmer."

_Yes. Interesting and inconvenient._

"I'm still unclear on the details of your arrest, however," Erandur went on. "The Empire governs our provinces, but surely the execution of a foreign citizen in Skyrim would have spurred action from the rulers of Valenwood."

I faced him in surprise. "Valenwood is in no shape to take action against anyone. Even if we were a unified nation, we have the Dominion to contend with foremost. Our 'rulers' are the Camoran family. They're royal by blood, but the throne they sit upon is hollow."

"Ah, I see."

"The Camoran Queen does what she can, but the political situation there is so unstable that she must play marionette to the Thalmor," I ranted, suddenly seething. "That supremacist faction is a disease. No matter where they go—Skyrim, Valenwood, Cyrodiil—they leave countless deaths in their wake. What's worse is that they comprise a percentage of my people."

Erandur stared at me, taken aback by the venom in my speech. I realized this marked the first instance where I openly displayed my anger as the Dragonborn. Reining it in, I gestured helplessly and shrugged.

"It's something I feel strongly about. You can't imagine the frustration of running around a province full of people who hate you, working to satisfy a prophecy that will save them when your own homeland fares no better," I remarked with dripping bitterness. "There is a purpose and a meaning to all events in life, but in this case, when I am made savior to a land that fears and loathes me, I can't help questioning the will of the Divines."

"Hold strong, Kressun. You will accomplish everything you are meant to, and I will be next to you every step of the way, with Mara as our guide," Erandur told me. "Also, I appreciate you opening up to me about this. I am learning who you are little by little, yet the intrigue about you only grows."

I gave him a tired nod. "You know me: ambiguity and intrigue. But I suppose we should focus on more pressing matters."

"Yes, such as that low branch—"

His warning came a tad too late as I turned forward and smacked my head on a wayward tree limb that nearly toppled me off my horse. My helm shifted above my chin, but I yanked it back down and scanned the area for any other witnesses. The gates of Falkreath stretched far enough ahead that none of the guards caught the near disaster, but still I hissed a curse at my own failure to pay attention.

"Are you all right?" Erandur asked.

"My dignity is suffering."

"A bit ironic, isn't it, that a tree would attack you? Although, you _are_ rather tall for a Bosmer," he mused.

I contemplated the observation for nearly a minute. "There is a reason for that as well. Come on."

The guards peered at us as we rode up to the gates, but allowed us to pass without incident. I led the way through the dreary streets, enduring the customary gawking of the townsfolk. I'd heard Falkreath had its own host of problems to deal with, and one glance around confirmed the rumor. Every face I saw exuded the same hopeless and grim quality. The effect was eerie, but understandable in a town allegedly swarming with death.

We came to a stop in front of the Hall of the Dead. Dismounting from my horse, I felt the first flutter of anxiety in the pit of my stomach as I tied the reins down and approached the entrance. Erandur's presence provided some comfort when I pushed open the door and spotted the Shrine of Arkay against the wall to the left. Lit candles set up around the perimeter provided the only source of light once the door closed behind us. The interior appeared empty of other people, so I strode across the wooden floor and around the scattered seating, gathering myself.

Erandur followed me and eyed the altar at the front of the room. "We're meeting a priest of Arkay, then?"

I adjusted the warhammer on my back an unnecessary number of times as I continued pacing. "Yes. His name is Runil. I'm not sure if he will return here soon, or if we should go out and find him, or—"

"You seem a bit agitated, Kressun."

I tried to force my body to still, but ended up shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not sure what to expect. A priest he may be now, but during the Great War, he was a powerful Aldmeri battlemage. One of the fiercest and most notorious in the Dominion."

Erandur's gaze swung to me. "So you… intend to kill him?"

"No. He is—"

The creaking of the door interrupted us, and I tensed at the sight of the Altmer darkening the doorway. His weathered features reflected surprise as he pushed back his hood from his high forehead, scraggly white hair damp from the earlier downpour. The rolling sound of thunder outside lent a foreboding element to the atmosphere, which did little to soothe the erratic beat of my pulse. He stepped inside and shut the entrance again before zeroing in on me across the way.

"I thought I saw someone heading in here," he remarked genially. "Dragonborn? You must be! I have heard tales of you. That red and black armor you wear is quite famous."

His voice came off as weak, feeble, and nothing like I'd imagined. I squinted at him through the openings of my helm, a little baffled by his amiable demeanor. No trace of the mighty battlemage remained in the man, and for a moment, I wondered if I had been seeking the wrong person all along.

"You're… Runil?" I inquired, skeptical.

"That's correct. My name precedes me, I see," he chortled. "If I am not mistaken, this must be the first time you've ventured into Falkreath, is it not? What can an old priest like me do for you, Dragonborn?"

I hesitated, sensing my companion's attention on me from my right. "I… ah… that is…"

Erandur tapped my shoulder in concern. "What's wrong?"

I swallowed and tried again. _You've come this far. Don't falter now._

_"Laas Yah Nir."_

The words of Aura Whisper flowed from my lips and permeated the Hall of the Dead in thrumming echoes. Red hues of energy flickered around the three of us standing within the space, glowing and pulsing in time with the rhythm of our hearts. When I ensured no other soul occupied the vicinity, I took a deep breath and lifted both hands toward my face.

"I would introduce myself properly, but I believe you can guess who I am," I announced as I removed my helm and fixed the Altmer with a level look that belied my inner trepidation.

In the weak lighting, I watched Runil's expression change from curiosity to shock, and a flash of recognition entered the glassy eyes that suddenly reverted to the ones that had always been described to me: bright, intense, and, beneath it all, potentially dangerous.

"Kressun?" he breathed, utterly stunned.

I inclined my head, overwhelmed by a maelstrom of gratitude and reprieve that left me dizzy. _So he does know about me…_

Erandur glanced back and forth between us. "I must be missing something."

Runil ignored him and sidled closer to me. "By the Divines… you look so much like her," he said, his entire bearing changing as the mention of _her_ provoked a semblance of his past self.

I smirked. "My mother? She always told me I looked like you. I am, after all, your—"

"Child," he finished.


	4. Chapter 4

I studied the dazed priest of Arkay, my blood and father, as the silence grew deafening in the increasingly stifling room. He adjusted the collar of his robes while scrutinizing me in return, and in my peripheral vision I noticed Erandur relaxing his stance. My stomach still felt laden with a series of knots, but one by one they eased as the state of affairs sunk in. After a few seconds, Runil broke his stasis to march to the door and bar it with a sturdy plank.

"You will have to forgive my lack of hospitality," he said, his voice coming in stronger than before. "I had never imagined you would seek me out. For several years, I admit I even doubted your mother's claims of your paternity."

"A sentiment many others would share, I'm sure," I replied.

He folded his arms over his chest and sent me a cross look. "At first, she told me virtually nothing about you in her letters; not your name, whether I had a son or daughter… only that you existed. Her last letter arrived after the incident in Falinesti, referring to you as 'Kressun.' That was almost a year ago. And now here you are."

I listened attentively, taking note of the details of his communication with my mother. "I assume you hadn't counted on fathering the last Dragonborn, much less the—" I caught myself as soon as my sight darted to Erandur. "…Er, much less the child of your greatest rival and adversary during the war."

Runil picked up on my correction right away, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to my follower. "Say, who might you be?"

"A fellow priest, although Mara is the Divine I serve," Erandur answered, bowing his head in a polite gesture. Then, addressing me, he asked, "Your parents were contenders at one point? Was your mother part of a resistance group against the Dominion?"

I frowned, beginning to see how things would get complicated from here on out. "Not exactly."

"What all do you know of Kressun?" Runil demanded, striding back toward us to tower over the other priest. His posture grew overbearing, hinting further at his previous trade.

Unfazed, Erandur stated, "Not as much as I'd like."

Runil sized him up, mouth settling into a hard line. "Yet your composed manner implies that you have glimpsed Kressun's face before," he insisted. "It is common knowledge that the Dragonborn wears an abstruse exterior and unveils it for no one. Now I understand why, but how much are _you_ aware of Kressun's identity?"

"Erandur is my friend and long-time companion," I interjected before Runil let on too much. From what I could tell of his sudden protectiveness, he already comprehended the dire aspects of my circumstances. "He first saw my face when we fell into a critical situation at the College of Winterhold. Basically, an ice spike lodged into my head, and he required a clear view of the injury. Beyond that… I've already told him I will reveal all when the time is right."

"Hmph," Runil grunted as he glared at Erandur's neutral expression. "The College? I heard things had finally quieted down over there."

"They did, after a series of troublesome and irritating events. Oh, and I'm the new Arch-Mage," I added as a wry afterthought. "But only because Savos Aren—and apparently the Psijic Order—liked me enough to designate me as his successor before he passed away."

Astonishment and something akin to pride lit up Runil's features at the news. "You are now the head of the College? If I may say so, this pleases me to know. But considering your lineage, it is only fitting."

"Which brings me to the reason why I set out to find you. Why I'm here now." I peered at him and attempted to gauge his reaction, hoping blood did indeed run thicker than water. "My mother used to tell me stories of your days as a battlemage. Your reputation painted you as a force of nature, a legend in conjuration, and a war-hardened monster."

Runil shuffled his feet in obvious discomfort. "Ah, well, I'm no longer any of those things. That was another life, a dark period in my history—"

"I need you to teach me."

Both he and Erandur went very still. I gripped my helm tighter between my gauntlets, wincing at the piercing sound as the ebony metal scraped together.

"My magic abilities exist, but come far short of the level they should be, even after Erandur and I worked our way through the lessons at the College," I declared. "They were very by the book and unsuitable for someone of my particular arcane style. I understand you're willing to train people at the common level. But I need you to teach me _everything_ you had at your disposal when you still fought for the Thalmor."

The tautness of his visage suggested he detested the idea, and my follower laid a hand on my forearm as I prepared to argue my case to the death.

"Learning the entire arsenal of a battlemage, especially one from the Dominion, will take months, possibly years of practice," Erandur pointed out. "I will also try to help, but Alduin will not wait that long for you to master a set of skills you aren't naturally proficient at."

"Listen to the Dunmer. Had things been different and you were not the Dragonborn, I would consider your request, Kressun," Runil sighed as he rubbed his forehead. "There just would not be enough time…"

"This is about more than Alduin," I cut in sharply, exasperated. Surely my mother would have mentioned more of what was happening in Valenwood in her last letter to him. "You must realize why I came to Skyrim in the first place. It wasn't some whimsical desire for a snowbound vacation to meet my biological father and have him teach me fancy hand-weaving tricks."

Runil's dubious scowl tested my forbearance and roused a simmering wave of frustration under my skin.

"The Thalmor have initiated a 'cleanse' across my homeland," I explained, slamming my helm down on the altar as the memory incensed me. "I don't know if you've kept up to date with their actions since you left them, but the persecutions you see here in Skyrim are nothing compared to the atrocities they commit against my people in Valenwood. Those loyal to them are welcomed into their ranks, but the rest of us who oppose their policies are rendered useless and eventually eliminated. Our plight is ignored by the rest of Tamriel because everyone believes the Bosmer all work willingly with the Dominion. Something _must_ be done."

None could deny the unfiltered ire and desperation in my voice. Runil must have recognized my stark refusal to back down because he shifted and regarded me thoughtfully.

"This is a heavy burden that falls on your shoulders, Kressun," he remarked, looking pained. "Why must you be the one to bear it? I understand your sense of duty to your home, but you are one person, and not only that, you have been revealed as the Dragonborn—"

"I have a responsibility to Valenwood," I snapped, at the end of my patience. "Do you think I care about Skyrim's troubles? I stay and fulfill my part as their prophesized champion only because these skills will aid in the fight waiting for me back home. The Thu'um is a wild card I wield, and once I defeat the dreaded World Eater, my enemies will quake in their boots when I return to deal with them, for they are next in my sights."

Erandur stepped away from me at that moment, and I refused to meet his eyes as the coldness of my words lingered in the air around us. The truth was a harsh and bitter prospect—one I'd hoped to keep hidden from him for a while longer. However, it had begun unfurling on its own, out of my control. The reality of my motives would only exacerbate any misgivings he had about me, overriding the new and delicate connection we'd started to explore. Even so, I could never stray from my priorities, and Valenwood would always rank at the top of the list.

Runil, on the other hand, appeared close to persuaded. "I suppose you have a point, although I will say that I don't relish the idea of my only progeny flouncing off to several dangerous battles so soon after we finally met."

"I will take your touching paternal concern into consideration each time I dive headlong into danger," I returned dryly.

He sighed again in resignation. "You ask much of an old man, Kressun. Although, if you are the Arch-Mage, there must be hope for the speed of your progression in magic."

"Well, as it stands, I am Arch-Mage in name only," I said, and then paused. "Much like the titles are to the Camorans in Falinesti."

A muscle twitched in Runil's temple, and his gaze softened as he asked, "How fares the queen during these turbulent times?"

I shook my head, moving my line of vision to the opposite wall. "Not well, I'd imagine. The Thalmor have had the capital under lockdown, so she has no choice but to handle them alone. And with the Camoran heir missing, the leaders of the other treethanes refuse to lend her their support, seeing it as an opportunity to replace the Camoran Dynasty."

I continued to feel Erandur's penetrating stare on me while I spoke, and I did a poor job of disregarding it as my inner havoc increased tenfold. From this point forward, everything would change, whether he remained at my side or not. A scuffling noise broke the area's sedentary pressure as Runil trudged toward the backrooms at the other side of the Hall.

"Very well. I will have to speak to my assistant, Kust, about taking over for me here while we begin your training." He stopped at the doorway and glanced back at me over his shoulder. "However, we must go elsewhere. The things I will show you have no place in Falkreath or any other domestic setting."

I had anticipated this and responded accordingly. "The College is now my domain. We should set out for Winterhold in the morning."

Runil nodded. "All right. If this is what you wish."

I replaced my helm over my head, weary of fresh air and emotion for one day. "It is not so much what I wish, but what Valenwood requires."

x-x-x-x-x

That night, in a private room at Dead Man's Drink, Erandur and I sat together at the single table across from the locked door. My helm masked my expression, but I kept my face turned to the side, peering at the faded tapestry hanging on the cracked wall. He had yet to comment on the verities I had bared during the meeting with Runil, but I could guess which direction his opinion had been shaped. The knowledge that the Dragonborn considered Skyrim's Dragon Crisis a side chore, good only for gaining experience in skill and power, would demotivate any citizen residing in this frozen province.

Finally, I could take his silence no longer. "Just tell me one thing. Do you intend to continue traveling with me, or should I give you supplies for your journey back to Dawnstar?"

He watched me from the shadows beneath his hood, his deep red eyes glinting in the firelight. I found his countenance even harder to read than in Solitude and Windhelm. But then, this was not mere disgruntlement over my relations with other people. The things he had learned in the Hall of the Dead were far more serious, grim, and possibly dishonorable.

"You guard the truth for good reason, Kressun," Erandur told me in a calm tone. "If the public knew about your real feelings on their crisis, they would outright eject you from Skyrim and take their chances against Alduin on their own."

"As if they aren't on the verge of doing that already," I scoffed, kneading my knuckles against each other. "But what I want to know is what _you_ think. Are you through with me now? Have my actions crossed the line, priest of Mara?"

He straightened in his seat, pinning me with a hard look. "I said before that I appreciated your trust in me. I still do. You even went so far as to show me what truly drives you, knowing that my principles may clash with your motives."

I muttered an agreement, frowning at the surface of the table. "It may have cost me my most favored follower, but you of all people deserved to know the whole truth."

"There is a problem with that statement. You _didn't_ reveal whole truth. Not explicitly."

My gaze snapped to him. "I—"

"But you lowered your walls enough so I could piece it all together," Erandur said with a small note of satisfaction.

I fidgeted under his scrutiny, wondering if he had indeed solved the puzzle.

"Rest assured, I will not leave you. However, what would your jarls say?" he drawled, propping his chin up with his palm.

"What do you mean? About what?"

"About the identity of the individual they take to their quarters. The Camoran heir is not missing. Merely away," Erandur declared, offering me an unexpected sly grin. "Isn't that right, Kressun Camoran?"

A few beats of stunned silence ticked by before I laughed with relief. The sound echoed inside my helm, lifting the tension that had been building for the past several hours.

"You were quick to catch on, Erandur. It's impressive, though I really shouldn't be surprised." I leaned back in my chair and brought up my fingers to steeple together, a pose I had practiced a hundred times before on my mother's official seat. "Heir apparent to the Camoran throne and future monarch of Valenwood, at your service."


	5. Chapter 5

Day melded into night, and then night into day. Each sunrise and sunset greeted me from the horizon on either side of my travel route as I pressed a linear path north with my companions. Countless thoughts vied for my attention during our tireless trek, ferrying potential concerns across my ticking mind. With Runil's recruitment, my hopes for the future gained momentum and feasibility, but the inevitable struggle remained the same. A long road awaited, one I was willing to bear. The stakes went beyond everything I faced here, from the responsibilities of the Arch-Mage to the legacy of the _Dovahkiin_.

I had my own land to save and a crown that awaited me.

"So you knew of Kressun's royal status this entire time, then?" Erandur asked Runil as we crossed on horseback into the icy tundra that marked northern Skyrim.

"Yes, and that information really should not be passed around," the older priest remarked, sending me a stern glare from several paces ahead. "Was telling him necessary?"

I adjusted my helm and peered up at the first flakes of falling snow. "I told him nothing. He figured it out on his own."

"Due to your machinations, no doubt," Runil said while shaking his head. "I truly hope you know what you're doing by trusting him. The Thalmor have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Well, going by that alone, you're more of a danger to me than Erandur is," I pointed out. "Let him be, Runil. None of us have spotless histories, yet here we are working toward a common goal. I ask that you cast aside your misgivings."

The Altmer's stony expression preceded a long silence. I studied the violet and orange dusk encroaching from the west, suspecting that the chill in the air stemmed from more than the frost. We carried on along the winding road as the temperature dropped to subzero levels between the priests. I watched them both, wondering if the quarrel would extend to their respective Divines. Whether by Mara or Arkay, I would have welcomed intervention from either deity at this point.

When Runil next spoke, he addressed Erandur. "You must understand why I am wary. The queen of Valenwood spent years protecting her only heir and covering up the link to me. To send Kressun away, alone, to seek any form of aid must mean the situation is grim and desperate in Falinesti. And now… the shackles of the Dragonborn are added to the equation, with all the additional dangers attached to it. Those include potential betrayals."

Erandur slowed his horse and maneuvered it behind mine so he could move over next to Runil. "Believe me, I only want to help in any way I can. I owe Kressun much, but more than that, our friendship is something I highly value."

I sent him a sideways glance, but offered no comment. Although Runil still appeared unconvinced, I harbored no doubts that Erandur would prove himself in due time. I did appreciate how quickly Runil had taken to my cause, and as a former member of the Dominion, he likely drew his wariness from firsthand knowledge of the Thalmor's ways. However, his mounting worries for me and my status led me to a tentative conclusion.

"You still care for her, don't you?" I asked him quietly. "My mother."

Runil's shoulders stiffened at first, but then slumped visibly beneath his cloak. "She… was a special woman. I have always had much respect for her, even in the days when our positions dictated us as enemies."

I picked up on the nostalgia in his tone, interested in his opinion. "She obviously returned the sentiment. And here I am, a result of your mutual respect."

He cleared his throat and shifted in his saddle. "Yes, well. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for your mother to… I mean, especially with you as—"

"Ah. We managed," I interrupted. "For the sake of diversion, the Camoran heir was given a ridiculous, decorative title—'Crest of the Sun'—and marketed as such."

"'Crest of the Sun'?" Erandur piped up, leaning past Runil to stare at me. "So… 'Kressun'? It isn't your real name?"

A hidden grin spread over my lips as I spurred my horse forward. "A conversation for another time. For now, we should seek a place to camp before the light disappears."

I received no arguments when the wind picked up and blew a layer of snow over us. We weathered through the unrelenting winter storm that followed our search across the surrounding terrain. I flexed my fingers over the reins to coax the circulation back to my joints when a half hour passed, during which the ice had seeped into my gauntlets. After another ten minutes wherein I debated simply lighting us all aflame to stave off the cold, my gaze settled on an ideal set of rock formations in the distance. Gesturing toward them, I led the way across the rolling plains of white, urging my horse into a full gallop just as the storm intensified to a blizzard.

The eroded boulders and crumbling pillars granted us considerable shelter when we reached the site. Nestled amidst giant trees that stretched to the sky, it boasted dry ground and wind-breaking structures. We dismounted from our horses and surveyed the perimeter, not yet free to rest as I delegated tasks for setting up camp. Runil went to work building the central fire while Erandur tended to the horses. I had just lain down my warhammer against one tree when the foliage behind me rustled, prompting me to swipe it back up.

"Dragonborn, I've been looking for you," a winded voice called amidst the noise. Moments later, a lanky man covered in snow emerged into the clearing. "And, well, so has he…"

Another appeared at his side, straightening his disheveled clothing and looking as if he'd run a marathon across the province. I released the handle of my weapon when I noticed the folded papers in each of their hands.

"How do you couriers always manage to find me?" I demanded, torn between genuine curiosity and perturbation. The success rates of their deliveries, no matter the location or climate, was nothing short of dumbfounding.

"Surely by the grace of Nocturnal herself," the second courier panted, holding out his letter. "I have for you a summons from Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak."

"And this one is a summons from Jarl Elisif the Fair," the first added, also handing his letter to me.

I accepted both, frowning as I sensed Erandur's eyes narrow at my back. "Thank you. A Septim each for your troubles. Stay safe out there."

They thanked me for the payment and, astoundingly, set off sprinting in different directions without bothering to catch their breaths. I dropped my gaze to the two summons in my hands, feeling their palpable weight as I took in the contrasting seals of Windhelm and Solitude. When I glanced at Erandur across the way, he turned and busied himself with his pack. Pressing my lips into a straight line, I placed the letters next to my things on the ground and resolved to worry about them at a later time.

The remainder of the evening progressed in a more uneventful manner. After a filling meal around the blazing fire, Runil retired to his bedroll behind a line of tree trunks at the far side of camp. The worst of the blizzard had passed once the darkness settled in, leaving in its wake only a few falling snowflakes and an unobstructed view of the twin moons. A gentle decrescendo blanketed the open land as everything slowed and stilled to a midnight slumber.

I leaned back against a stone pillar overlooking the tundra, casting my sight upward to rove over the flickering stars. The rare moment of tranquility heightened my awareness of my own exhaustion, but I disregarded the feeling, too preoccupied with self-reflection to succumb to the night. Due to my one-track mentality when it came to my objectives, I often neglected proper regard for my own well-being. Even at this hour, with nothing else requiring my management, I preferred to confront a multitude of accumulating anxieties rather than lie down and allow my subconscious to give me worse.

However, when the space next to me gained warmth, I knew the interlude of peace had already fled.

"Just a day or two more, Erandur," I said without moving. "We can discuss more personal matters when we reach Winterhold."

"I wish to speak to you now," he stated in a tone too formal for my liking. "There is an issue that keeps me from sleep."

The resolute note in his words convinced me that he would not allow a delay in this conversation.

I pushed off from the pillar and crossed my arms, rotating toward him. "Very well."

He lowered his hood despite the freezing air, visage conflicted in the distant light of the waning moons. "I did not know I had been calling you by an alias since I'd met you."

I faltered at the unexpected topic. "Well, I can't go strutting around under my birth name, can I?"

Erandur paused before answering, as if considering the prospect. "I… suppose that makes sense."

"Even if the Nords have no inkling as to the significance of my Camoran name, imagine what would happen if every Bosmer I encountered in Skyrim either decried my bloodline or bowed before me." I grimaced beneath my helm at the potential calamity that would result from either scenario. "Furthermore, my face is already recognizable across Valenwood, especially to my enemies. I can't take the chance."

The understanding darted across Erandur's features at once. "Ah, wait. I see now. That is why you require your shroud," he concluded. "The Thalmor…"

"Exactly. I have been masking myself ever since I left home," I told him, bringing my arms down to my sides as my stance eased. "Many members of the Dominion rotate between Valenwood, Cyrodiil, and Skyrim, and they would identify me immediately if they saw me without my helm. Fortunately, no one has connected the missing heir of Valenwood to the Dragonborn of Skyrim."

In the dark, his glinting eyes churned with something unreadable. "So what shall I call you when we return for your throne?"

I hesitated at his question, catching the hint. The corners of my lips lifted in a soft smile as the somber mood deepened. I laid a gauntleted palm on his shoulder, wishing to convey through the gesture what I could not speak aloud.

"We will worry about that if and when we get there," I replied. "For now, 'Kressun' must suffice. Depending on how everything plays out, 'Kressun' may be the last name I go by. But so long as Valenwood is liberated, I will be satisfied."

Erandur inclined his head and grasped my hand when I moved to withdraw. "That I can accept. However, regarding the situation with Elisif and Ulfric…"

 _Ah, there it is._ "Yes?"

His grip tightened over my fingers. "I do not make demands of you often, but I will not hold my tongue this time," he declared, straightening to his full height as he stared sharply at the sealed letters among my belongings. "I don't want you to go to them."

My eyebrows rose at the startling aggression in Erandur's voice. Not only that, he fixed me with a glare that dared me to argue. His vehemence simultaneously took me aback and impressed me, as this marked the first instance where he had turned the tables to give me an order. I worked to find a suitable response, a struggle made more difficult by the intense, smoldering quality in his demeanor. I could admit a degree of attraction to this unforeseen switch, for it wasn't every day that my temperate priest of Mara stood his ground and asserted himself in matters of the heart.

Still, regardless of my own willingness to comply with his wishes, I needed him to understand the reasons that lurked behind everything I did. Every action I engaged in. Every choice I made.

"Before I give you an answer, there is something you should hear," I began, gently prying my hand from his grasp. "When I was growing up back in Valenwood, I had a stepfather. The king-consort."

Erandur's silence implied either patience or dismay at my off-topic rambling.

"He was a fair and intelligent man," I went on, "and although he went along with my mother in passing me off as his child to the public, he knew the truth. Even so, he treated me well and, save for his standoffish nature, he was a decent father figure."

I looked out at the expanse of frozen land before us, blind to the snow as the memories filled my vision. As a self-imposed rule, I avoided thinking too much of the past, for the disparity between my recollections and the reality of the present always tore down my spirit, burdened my mind. But now, with something else on the line, it spilled forth out of necessity.

"Several years ago, he was killed during what was supposed to be a civil conference with one of the other treethane leaders. The Thalmor had nothing to do with the dispute; it stemmed from Valenwood's history of inter-tribal warfare," I told Erandur, the inflection of my words growing harder with every second of reminiscence. "Yet another example of a deep-rooted issue that must change for my people. We're a danger to each other, and it renders us weak as a nation."

_And the Bosmer cannot afford this weakness for much longer._

My eyes drifted to the summons beckoning from across the ground. "Skyrim's civil war reflects a similar pattern."

Erandur watched me in puzzlement, seemingly attempting to connect my point with the subject.

"If I one day eradicate the Thalmor presence from my home and proceed to ascend the throne, I am expected to succeed where my mother is failing," I explained. "As the next monarch, I will have to unite all the treethanes of Valenwood under one kingdom. It is a colossal task in which I have no experience. But what better way to learn than to study the war between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials?"

It clicked for him at that moment. "You're using the civil war as reference."

The statement hung around us, neither accusatory nor convicting; merely factual. My grim nod confirmed the revelation. Once again, the Dragonborn's true agenda exposed itself as less than honorable.

"So now you know why I haven't chosen a side," I remarked, returning my gaze to the skies. "And why I require certain… internal perspectives."

Erandur forced my attention by advancing on me and backing me into the pillar. It took all the strength in his arms to move my armored form, but I went with the motion, grunting when my back hit the solid surface. His fingers curled around the spikes on my epaulets, but it was the black gleam in his expression that held me in place.

"I can understand your reasoning for your stance on the war, yes, but explain to me the purpose of your relations with the jarls," he rumbled in a deep, low tone.

I peered back at him, curious to see how far he intended to take this. "As I said, learning the inside perspectives of the opposing leaders vying for the High throne—"

"Don't be evasive. You know what I am referring to."

Indeed I did, but how to explain it to him?

Reaching up, I lifted the front of my helm, feeling the cool air wash over my face as I tempted fate out in the open. It was worth the chance to capture his gaze unhindered, for I never tired of the fervent heart reflected in those eyes. Subtle intimacy defined this choice to uncover myself in his presence, a move he already knew was reserved for him alone. He, in turn, wasted no opportunity, and he brushed his thumb along my cheekbone in a gesture I had come to crave. He witnessed my reaction, saw the slight tremor running through me at his touch.

"I still want that answer," he murmured, leaning in so close that I caught the appealing fragrance of spice.

A winding heat blossomed at his proximity, and it took considerable effort to stay my hands when they sought to grasp him. "You would rob me of what little pleasure is available to me, Erandur?" I asked with a gravelly timbre. "I, too, have needs. Urges. With my circumstances, I can receive nothing in return, but I am gracious; I prefer to give." His breath caught in his throat when the claws of my right gauntlet skimmed across his hip through his robes. "If I end these affairs, how then shall I tend to my wanton desires?"

Thirst, yearning… _something_ flashed and surged between us in that instant.

In the midst of some internal struggle, he growled out his response in a voice I did not recognize. "Let me take their place. Unlike the others, _I_ can satisfy you."

I locked onto the insinuation, a whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my head. Just the other week, he had refused me for fear of becoming "another notch on my belt." And now the tune had changed, reversed with this staggering proposal. He meant it as well, showing me how much through the cracking restraint of his countenance. The weight on my epaulets increased as he pressed harder against my shoulders, the tension in his arms tight and ready to snap. I fared no better, wanting to hold him to the promise of his words. And yet, a detail lingered, one that required acknowledgement.

"What are you saying, Erandur?" I inquired, running a gentle claw through the short facial hair around his mouth. "My face is all you've seen. Even you do not know what I am."

_Man or woman… the mystery endures, and only I know the truth._

However, although the reminder dawned in his irises, all reservations drowned immediately within his fiery leer. "Have I ever given any indication that it mattered?" he questioned, placing something against my armored chest.

I glanced down and recognized his Amulet of Mara, held tight against the rhythm of my heart.

" _This_ is what I am after," Erandur told me in a tender pitch, the sincerity and affection moving me to solemnity. "That which beats inside. I've one myself that I am willing to offer. Your body does not define you. It is the person as a whole I am taken with."

The confession drove off the remainder of my qualms. I'd intended to draw out the encounter to learn the extent of his aims, but in light of this disclosure, my self-control absconded. I wanted him. I needed him.

My patience was gone.

Grabbing a fistful of his robes, I yanked him to me and crushed my lips against his. He froze in evident surprise at first, but I pulled him closer until he reciprocated, his hands moving around me to brace the pillar. For all my proficiency in sensual bedroom activities, my true inexperience revealed itself in the simple act of a kiss. Concentration abandoned me as I lost myself to the exhilaration, but in another unexpected turn of events, Erandur demonstrated just how much I did not know.

He took the lead, pushing me against the hard surface as he lifted my helm higher and coaxed my mouth open with his tongue. Even as I complied and allowed the oral penetration, my instincts volleyed back and forth between wanting dominance and submission, as this marked the first time my preference remained unclear. But when he probed inside me, tasting and feeling with desperate fervor, I surrendered the conflict, too mesmerized to think further.

Both, one or the other, or neither.

With Erandur, it no longer mattered.

I sucked in a breath once he broke the kiss, only to gasp toward the sky when his lips trailed fire across my jaw. The foreign sensation shot to my core, and a sound escaped my throat when his teeth traveled down to graze the flesh of my neck. Had I known this about my priest of Mara, I might have instigated the advances even before he conveyed his interest. I gripped his waist as he bit gently on my skin, swept up in a rapturous haze from the things his mouth did to me. I think I moaned his name when it became too much, and in response he licked the bottom of my earlobe, whispering amorous sentiments as his fingers stroked my cheek.

My pulse hammered against my sternum in a way it never had before. It differed from the rush of battle, beating in time to Erandur's deep baritone professing his intentions in my ear, telling me what else he'd like to do to me if I gave him permission at our next occasion of privacy. I found myself shivering at his unleashed desire, my body greatly receptive to the sheer lust that had taken over his demeanor. Too many prerequisite obstacles existed for me to grant his wishes all at once, but I smiled all the same, promising that at least half would happen soon enough.

He drew back to regard me before leaning in to kiss me again, cupping my face in his hands as a stronger connection forged and bound us together. I held him close and returned the favor by nipping at his lower lip, eliciting a groan from deep in his chest. The vestiges of our restrictions began to crumble under the flare of our passion, and just when I thought to slow down the pace, I heard it…

The telltale roar of the kin of my soul.

"Damnation," I breathed, pulling away from him as I spotted the dragon's silhouette against the stars in the distance. "Erandur…"

He grumbled something as he stepped back and adjusted his robes, attempting to conceal the evidence of his arousal. I grinned wryly and snapped my helm back into place. Another roar resounded across the tundra, and I estimated the seconds until the dragon's arrival. It closed the distance to us with every flap of its vast wings, and when I identified it as an elder dragon, I went for my warhammer, welcoming the impending fight.

"This timing could not be more unfortunate," Erandur remarked, finally able to walk without a tent pitched between his legs.

"Don't worry," I assured him, bending down to seize the jarls' summons and toss them into the nearest flames. "Come Winterhold, you will understand why my… _services_ are coveted."

"So long as I am the only recipient from this day forward, I very much anticipate it." Bolts of lightning flashed across his hands as he cast a dark look toward the approaching dragon. "Now, shall we? I have some frustration I'd like to take out on this creature."

We hurried to the edge of the campsite, only to find Runil already there and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Ah, you two are up as well. Rude awakenings like this are quite taxing for an old man like me," he declared, sounding more grumpy and annoyed than anything. Raising a palm, he conjured a Storm Atronach to complement Erandur's lightning spell and squinted at the foe nearly upon us. "I'm glad you are still willing to end this Dragon Crisis, Kressun, considering how little you seem to think of Skyrim. Those of us residing here truly require a champion."

I peered at him, sobering at the accuracy of his statement. "I know. It's why I haven't left, why I continue the fight."

Valenwood would always come before Skyrim in my eyes, but as long as I was here, I would never turn my back on these people. Some despised me, belittled me, and feared me for the way I was, but…

"You all need me," I said simply. "And that is enough."

_I will protect you, using everything at my disposal._

A blaze of violet light suddenly whirled around me as I lifted my arms, the force of the dual summoning spell rushing from my fingertips. Dormant power woke in my veins, surging forth at my call, obeying my command. I heard both Erandur and Runil issue shouts of surprise when a deafening crack split the night, and I smirked as I revealed the one ability I'd kept hidden all this time.

I did not succeed Savos Aren for _nothing_.

In a flash, the luminescent effects of the spell receded, and I stood proud amidst the dissipating glimmer of magic, flanked by two towering Dremora Lords at my sides.

Erandur gaped at my minions, awestruck as they kneeled before me. "Kressun… you're…"

"The Arch-Mage," I finished. "There was one actual reason the Psijic Order selected me for the role."

The ground quaked at that moment, signaling the arrival of the malicious beast. It targeted me at once, drawn to the twisted bond that linked us together. And through the howl of the wind, it spoke to me.

_"Dovahkiin, hin dez los dii."_

Such arrogant words. As if I would accept death on this night.

"You've mastered the Daedra?" Runil exclaimed as he sent his Storm Atronach to attack. "And summoning two, at that. Your conjuration skill has already exceeded mine."

"No. My skill is a different branch. I must learn yours as well," I returned while motioning for the Dremora Lords to shield me from the dragon's blast of ice. They did as ordered, allowing me to grip my warhammer, my adrenaline pumping in preparation for the battle. "But yes, this renders my Daedric armor so much more appropriate, doesn't it?"

"You never cease to amaze me, Kressun," Erandur called as he dodged the dragon's swinging tail. Sending a bolt of lightning toward it, he added, "Perhaps someday I shall learn all your secrets. And then what will you do?"

I smiled behind my helm as my Dremora forged into combat. "If you learn all my secrets and still remain at my side? I may have to make you my consort, Erandur. You would look perfect standing next to my throne."

He chuckled at that and dashed to assist Runil, who barked, "Now he is a candidate for your consort? We are going to discuss this later!"

As my companions focused on casting destruction spells for the fight, I spun my warhammer once and then charged.

The dragon within me stirred in my blood, pushing the Arch-Mage and the Camoran heir to the back. I acknowledged the multiple facets of my identity, realizing that no matter which one I favored over the others, they all comprised a substantial part of me. Birthright or no, the fates of many rested in my hands.

I had a throne to claim. A crisis to end. A war to oversee. A new lover to please. A destiny to fulfill.

But for now, I had a soul to take.


End file.
